A Mountain of Fire and Blood
by Joysbell
Summary: Fear sparks the power within for a Queen to fly free. Visions of the past rekindle doubt and inspire hope in the foothills of a Blood General's ancestral home.
1. Chapter 1

Nesta stood on the plush blue carpet in the formal business room, or whatever Feyre called it, of her sister's river estate. She held a sac tightly in her arms, waiting for Feyre's mate to winnow the three of them to the cabin Nesta was being banished to in the Illyrian mountains. The sac held her most important possessions and was rather heavy due to its contents being mostly books. Her nostrils flared. Where the hell was that prick her sister had married—his insufferable high lordness—that she refused to recognize had any control over her. No. Maybe her sister, Feyre, did. But certainly not _that _ass.

Her sister sat up straight in a nearby ornate chair. Her hands rested on her thighs, and Nesta admitted she looked slightly nervous. Good. Nesta hoped she was questioning her decision to kick her out of Velaris, to stop paying her rent, her tabs. Even if Nesta's behavior was questionable, at best, her sister had dragged her into this life that she had never wanted to be a part of. Her sister and her damned mate. Nesta shot her sister a look of disgust. "Where _is_ he?"

Feyre sat up a little straighter. "He's coming." She smoothed her dress and held her sister's eyes. "Try to think about this differently, Nesta. It's not a punishment."

_It wasn't?_ Because it certainly felt like one. Her sister held all the power and had decided to press Nesta under her thumb, to move her wherever she pleased because she _knew_ that Nesta had no other choice, no other option. Feyre did not agree with her lifestyle, which was laughable, because Nesta could count on more than one hand the terrible decisions Feyre had made—but she was safe from judgment, she was lucky, she was _adored_. She was High Lady of the Night Court.

Nesta spun away and remained silent. At least Feyre had shown up to carry out the sentence she had dealt. Elain was nowhere to be seen. Nesta imagined she was baking bread or tending to her gardens. Her beloved little sister had passed judgment on her, too. That hurt so much more than Feyre and her friend's choice—that fact that Elain had agreed—they had probably held a _vote_. Nesta had stood by Elain while she had remained mute, lovesick, and utterly horror shocked.

Perhaps Nesta had not always made the best choices. But did she really deserve this? They were throwing her away like garbage. To a relentlessly cold, unforgiving place. _Maybe they thought it was perfect for her._

It was at that moment that Rhysand finally winnowed into the study. He wore his usual attire—black, intricate silver embellishments. He looked hard, void of the gentleness he saved for his circle. No. Absolutely none of that for her. Just repulsion. "Let's go," he said. Rhysand held out two hands, expectantly.

Nesta watched her sister rise, instantly more confident in the presence of her mate. Feyre lived well in her decision. "Okay," Feyre said, grabbing Rhysand's hand. When Nesta didn't move, Feyre nudged her with her eyes, looking to her mate's other hand. "Nesta."

She could not remember the last time she had touched the High Lord, and did not want to feel that immense power, which she knew he would send through her, it would be ice in her veins. _Bastard_. She lunged forward, moving her sac to one arm, and roughly grabbed his hand. If he was going to be gruff, she would match him and more. There was nothing but liquid abhorrence behind her blue-gray eyes.

They instantly traveled.

Nesta felt slightly lightheaded, standing in the middle of a cabin. The walls, floors, and furniture were all varying types of wood. It was dark. The only light came from the fire in a nearby hearth, and those _sounds_ immediately flooded her senses—_crack, pop, snap_. She almost dropped her bag.

The cabin became more illuminated as candles were suddenly lit. Nesta stood in an open space, next to a couch, some chairs, and a low table. The kitchen and front door, she noted, was to her left. There was a strong feeling to run toward the exit, into whatever lay outside. But her wine-stained slip shoes were not made for the snow she imagined she would meet.

Feyre spoke as she moved to the kitchen. "It's cozy here."

Nesta might have agreed under different circumstances. She dropped her bag beside her and sat down on the couch, not willing herself to look around any further. The healthy fire still sang a horrific song to her.

"Elain and I were here earlier cleaning up." Feyre seemed to be making herself busy, adjusting things. "Elain gave you a couple plants," she said, pointing around the room. "You will have to water them."

Nesta seethed. She really didn't care about her sister's fucking plants. She was here. And she wanted to be left alone.

Rhysand moved to Feyre in the kitchen and muttered quietly, "I'll tell Cassian to water them."

_Cassian_. In the hours leading up to her arrival Nesta had put her thoughts on the Illyrian warrior on the back burner. She had been too busy pacing around her apartment, rushing to pack the items she had not the night before, when instead of preparing for today she had gone out to gamble and seek crooked company.

But yesterday morning Cassian had overseen her journey from apartment to river estate. And told her where she would be going when Feyre declared she no longer wanted Nesta in her precious city. _You're coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains_, he'd said.

Cassian was probably here in these same mountains, right now. She couldn't _feel_ him, though, so he wasn't in the proximity. His role in this plot was not clear yet, but his presence was going to make it even more agonizing. She did not need that brute checking on her, flashing his cocky grin at her. _But she was in his domain._

Done with adjusting, Feyre piped up. "Cassian will come once a day, starting tomorrow."

"I don't want him to come, I don't _need_ him to come," Nesta spit from her spot on the couch.

Rhysand slowly closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We need someone to make sure you're not dead." Feyre shot him a look and hit him, silently telling him to be quiet.

"Then send someone else" said Nesta.

Feyre moved closer to her sister. "It's the most practical. He lives here. Otherwise, we'd need someone who could winnow. Rhysand, or Mor—"

_Horrible options. _Apparently, her sister was not going to leave Nesta alone to slowly decay here. It wasn't a death sentence, but a prison.

At this moment, all Nesta wanted was for them to leave. She would say anything to make that happen. "_Fine_, send Cassian."

Feyre nodded and changed the subject. "There's food in the icebox, Elain made some bread, and there are books that she bought—"

"Just. Go." Nesta lifted her head and glared at her sister and her mate. She would say nothing else.

Rhysand was silent and held out his hand. He did not need any more dismissal; but, Feyre seemed to slump. Her frown held more sadness than she had obviously prepared for.

_Did she expect this to go any better?_

"Okay," Feyre said, much quieter than she usually spoke. "We'll see you soon." And then she grabbed her mate's hand and they were gone.

Nesta was finally alone. She boiled inside. Left in the woods with no money, no booze, and no men. They had secured her inability to carry out the behavior they disapproved of so much.

Across the living room Nesta got lost for a moment in the fire's flames. The colors mimicked the white-hot rage inside her. In an abrupt movement, Nesta moved from the couch to the small kitchen. Ripping open the cabinet underneath the sink she found a metal bucket. She filled it, standing at the sink, looking out the window. It was dark outside. A gust made the trees dance and the moon reflected off the snow.

When the bucket was full Nesta lifted it from the sink, moving toward her target. _Crack, pop, snap… _Swiftly, she dumped the bucket on the fire. It fizzled out with a hiss and smoke drifted across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

This place was a jungle. A fancy, pink and purple jungle. Girls flocked to the counter, practically pushing each other over to get a glimpse at what was inside. Little cupcakes decorated with lace and edible pearls and ornate designs. Some were even adorned as animals. Cassian made sure to stand back, as to not be swept up in the sugar-crazed mob. What was so special about these desserts? More importantly, why would Rhys ask to meet him here? It had to be a joke. A meeting at this frilly cupcake shop along the Sidra.

He found a seat at a white iron table, toward the back of the shop. The chair was too tiny, his wings were scrunched; he hunched over, trying not to stand out too much. But it was pointless—he could tell people knew who he was. _The High Lord's General of Blood_.

As hushed whispers filled the air around him, Cassian leaned further down, pretending to read some menu on the table. When was the last time he had felt this uncomfortable? _Bryaxis_. He shuddered at the thought. Maybe cupcake shops weren't _that_ scary _if_ he had to compare.

When the whispers stopped, Cassian looked up to see Rhys coming toward him. Most of the people inside gawked—but they didn't dare murmur about their High Lord. Rhys smiled, greeted a few people, and things went back to normal. Cassian wondered if Rhys had calmed the patrons down; _probably, and they don't even know it._

"Sorry I'm late," Rhys said, grabbing a chair to sit. "I got tied up."

Cassian chuckled, "I didn't realize you let Feyre do that to you—how _playful_."

Rhys rolled his eyes and snatched the menu from Cassian's hand. "What looks good?"

"They all have silly names," Cassian leaned back, even though his wings protested. "I'll just have a vanilla one."

"Really? I thought you might be a Raspberry Razzle Rabbit kind of guy."

"If it has ears, I don't want it," Cassian said. He crossed his arms. "Why are we here? And not at the house."

"I wanted to get Feyre something special. These cupcakes are supposed to be delicious and luxurious… Should we order tea?"

Cassian huffed. "Just tell me why you wanted to meet here, in this very public place, where I won't make a scene. Are you breaking up with me?"

Rhys gave a sly smile that hid a little sympathy behind it. "No, it's worse than that."

It was then that Rhys started talking about Nesta, and Cassian wanted to break free of this world.

Cassian had this ache in his left shoulder. He rubbed it, incessantly. He tried massaging it all day, but it just wouldn't go away. He cursed and breathed deliberately. Today was not going to go well. The feeling seeped into his bones. This pain, his brain had probably made it up. To remind him of the ache he was going to face in person.

At least Rhys had let him get acquainted with the cabin he would have to visit every day after their excursion to the cupcake shop. At least he had run his hand along the wooden table, counters, and walls to get the feel of the place. He was a soldier, a commander, after all. Cassian certainly needed to know his battleground.

The fact that he had not been a part of the plan made the ache in his shoulder worse. His High Lord and Lady had left him out, opted to tell him about it after discussions had occurred. Why? Well… Maybe he could understand. But he was still pissed about it.

Rhys had asked him out on a date after the fact. To a fancy little cupcake stand in the middle of Velaris. Someplace public, of course, which would prevent Cassian from causing a scene. Amongst pink, frosted treats he had been told what his new job would be:

_Cassian, the babysitter._

He slid back into the chair he occupied in the home of his High Lord's river estate. The cushions gave him comfort, and he didn't want to leave. Once again, he rubbed his shoulder. It wasn't enough to warrant a healer. The pain was nothing compared to his accumulated catalog of hurt.

For fuck's sake, Cassian was solid. He was a leader. And no, he did not need a phantom pain that reminded him of a girl he had to go see who had made him so angry he had thrown her gift into the Sidra. That stupid gift.

In all his years he had never felt this way.

Why was Rhysand doing this to him? Well, and Feyre. And Elain. A trio who had made a choice which seriously affected him and that girl. Right now, if he acknowledged she was a woman it would probably break him in a way that he certainly couldn't handle. So just as she was, a girl who pissed him off. Not a woman who had shielded him in the face of imminent death. _Absolutely fucking not!_

The faint footsteps did not startle him. Cassian smiled, weakly, as Elain entered the social room he occupied. It was a little surprising to see her, and he had hardly ever been alone with her.

"Are you going to see Nesta?" She broadly asked, standing before him.

Looking up, Cassian replied, as softly as he could manage. "Soon."

Elain nodded and handed him a basket he had not noticed. "I made some more bread. And some other things. Could you please give this to her?"

"Yeah, of course," he reached out, left the comfort of the cushion, and took the package. He tried to smile, again, but it was harder than he had realized. He felt her touch his hand and it felt oddly familiar, albeit shocking.

"I know Nesta can _push_," Elain squeezed his hand, smiled, and released him. "Thank you."

Cassian got the feeling she was saying a lot more than that to him. Cassian nodded and made his way out. He could not think about this anymore. Was he even emotionally mature enough to combat these thoughts? He had thrown Nesta's gift in the Sidra. He had been a _child_.

And now Elain plainly saw his agony and offered comfort. This was all wrong. Nothing had ever gone this badly for him before—he really, really, really wanted to stay away from Nesta. For weeks, months, he had. Cassian had stopped making himself miserable because of the men she brought home. He had stopped going to the local haunts, in the hopes of seeing her like a creep. _Gods_, he had felt like a slinky piece of shit.

The notion that someone could dissolve him. It was impossible, yet it was happening. He had to fix this.

He put the basket on the ground for a moment. The air was soft outside, and he would fly. Reaching back, he tied his shoulder-length brown hair. The muscle still ached. The Nesta muscle. It wasn't going to stop hurting any time soon. With an eye-roll directed at someone who wasn't there, he took off to the skies. Off to the cabin in the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

If she was awake, she could _feel_ him. Cassian was sure of that—Nesta could always tell when he was near—and he spent a lot of time thinking about why.

He would not discuss it with the circle. Not because of embarrassment, or the expected pestering, but rather the pitied looks he might receive.

Shifting on his feet, Cassian waited in front of the door of the cabin. Maybe Nesta would rip it open, shred the wood, and throw it at him.

"Nesta," he whispered, waiting. When she didn't come to the door, he spoke louder. For a moment, he let himself wish she needed comfort, needed _him_, after what had transpired yesterday. "Nesta, sweetheart," Cassian placed his hand gently against the door, his other gripped the bag he had brought, which held Elain's package and a bottle of wine.

Time passed. Why wasn't she coming to cuss him out? There were no sighs, grumblings, or audible huffs from inside. Perhaps she was truly in a deep sleep.

Of course, he had a key, but Cassian had wanted Nesta to feel like this was _her_ home—not someplace he just barged into. So now he knocked, again and again. Sadly, Cassian wondered if she was already sick from the absence of the liquor which she consumed daily.

Before entering, Cassian thought about which was scarier—telling Rhysand he couldn't fulfill his assigned duty or disturbing Nesta. He was cursed from this point on.

What he found inside was darkness and cold. There was no difference in temperature from the snowy covered mountain outside; no light, no hearth. He swore and went immediately to the fire, where he found wet wood. "What—?" Cassian turned, about to call out to her, before he saw her staring at him from the couch.

Covered in every blanket she could probably find, Nesta watched him discover she had put the fire out. Nothing, she said nothing. Nesta's eyes looked as cold as her form, which shook—whether from withdrawal or the freezing state.

Crouched, Cassian watched her for a moment before speaking. Under her eyes were dark circles, her skin paper-pale, and he swore her lips were turning a shade they shouldn't have. Even fairies could get too cold. "Why would you do this," he asked, nodding to the place where flames should have been. "Are you trying to—" _No. He would not go further._

Still, Nesta said nothing. The darkness and void in her eyes spoke for her.

"Gods," he spat, before grabbing some of the waterlogged wood. He began shuffling it outside, dumping it onto the snow, before retrieving more from the woodpile in a small shack beside the home. It would be easier for Nesta to keep a fire roaring if the wood were inside, so he laid plenty extra by the hearth before he set to work. A spark grew quickly, and as it did Nesta began to shift.

It was obvious by even her lack of banter that she would not allow him to help her any further today. So be it.

He would say one thing, though. "Don't do that again," Cassian spoke softly. "I don't know why you did it, but please don't do it again." Then he found the bag he didn't realize he had dropped and brought out the bottle of wine. The light from the fire reflected off the green glass and he set it on the small table before her, without comment, as well as the package Elain had given.

Nesta's eyes broke for a second, where a 'thank you' might have been.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Cassian said, before quietly leaving.


	4. Chapter 4

Immediately after Cassian had left yesterday morning Nesta had repeated the action of eliminating the fire. Bucket sloshing, she'd carried it from the sink to the hearth. Smoke rose as the flames were put out, and she covered her mouth to cough. The home had no time to warm up. Nesta had returned to her blankets, but this time with wine.

Now it was the next morning, and the wine was gone. Nesta shivered and rocked a little, a lump upon the couch. How would she survive here without fire? The sound was unbearable, but the cold was going to kill her.

And then Nesta wondered if that was honestly what she wanted. To stop existing. To slowly freeze to death. There were better, less dramatic ways to die, she knew. She had certainly entertained them since she had cut the King's head off.

And then she suddenly felt him. _Cassian_. Saw him in her mind's eye—like a small ball of glowing gold light that she could see through space.

He was here earlier than she'd expected; or, she had lost track of time. There wasn't a clock to be found.

"Nesta."

She had no choice but to go open the door. Or make him come in himself like she had done yesterday. Maybe he would be less irritated with her if she let him in.

So she stood, slowly, removed her blankets, and was instantaneously frozen. The room was so cold it was brittle and sucked the air from her lungs. Her emerald, velvet dress was floor length with long sleeves but did nothing to protect her.

She had not even brought socks, why—?

The front door opened and Cassian entered. Their eyes met as the understanding that she had not followed his request set in. The first thing she saw in his eyes was the pain.

"Why do you keep drowning the fire? Tell me, or I'll have Rhys come install one permanently," he said.

"Don't you dare," she scowled, moving to stand between him and the hearth. Her stance was unyielding. She challenged him; come closer, see what I'll do. If he tried to light that fire again—

Cassian heard a low rumble behind him. He turned, the noise in question seemed to be coming from the kitchen sink. It was building, growing louder. Before he could speak, the handles turned, and the faucet burst, flying across the room hitting a nearby wall. A geyser erupted from where the faucet once was, into the small kitchen, soaking everything in its path. Cassian was a direct hit. He swore and moved to cover it with his hands, which didn't help, and only drenched him further.

Nesta stayed dry, far enough away, mouth agape. "I didn't—" She took a deep breath, hand outstretched to steady herself against the fireplace.

The spray ceased instantly, but water continued to run from the broken sink. Cassian turned around, picking at his wet shirt. He was irked. "You did that," he said, pointing towards the sink.

Nesta noted it wasn't a question. "I did." Stupid to pretend she hadn't.

"_And_?" Cassian pushed. He felt the waves of power retreat toward her. When he realized an apology was not coming, he laughed. Typical. "Nesta, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, you could have just asked." He grinned a cocky wolf smile.

Nesta rolled her eyes and lifted her dress. She made her way over to the kitchen counter and grimaced, turning the sink handles off. Great. Now her sink was broken. And Cassian was a wet bat, threatening to disrobe.

"What am I supposed to do? Fly home like this?" He was soaked, head to toe, wings and all. Taking a seat at the table, Cassian removed his water-logged boots, followed by his socks. He had decided not to comment on her power, _yet_. He knew she had it, and he'd felt it many times before, as it hung pungently around them, a kind of heaviness in the air. But Cassian had never actually seen her use it, willingly or otherwise.

Now quite stiff, Nesta went to pick up the fallen faucet. She held it for a moment, feeling its weight in her hands before she quietly strode over and dropped it on the table. This loss of control was not new—shattered windows, broken furniture, things she had to explain or hide from her nosy landlord. But Nesta had managed to keep it from her sisters, and their friends. And whatever it was, she suppressed it. Pushed it down, locked it up, in a faraway corner of her mind.

Cassian watched her curiously, before shaking off like a dog. "Nesta, it's cold. I'm freezing. We need to talk about this fire-thing."

"No." Her answer was simple. "No fire. Just leave, Cassian."

He gawked and pointed to himself. "I'm wet! It's frigid outside. Do you really want me to suffer _that _much, Nesta?" Although if he had to compare it to what he had already experienced with her…the stress, the heartache he could hardly tolerate… Maybe flying home soggy wouldn't be so bad.

"No," Nesta said quietly, surprising even herself that she had spoken. "I do not wish for you to suffer." Then she walked toward the neatly placed pile of logs Cassian had stacked yesterday. After hesitating, she grabbed two and put them in the fireplace. She took a pile of kindling and lit a match, nurturing a small spark.

After Feyre had been taken by a monster, she had learned to do things like this, to keep her sister and father alive. This simple act stirred a mixture of emotions Nesta did not want to vomit up, and her body began to long for what would numb her.

Cassian knew better than to ask Nesta if she needed help. "You need to warm up, too. The winter is only getting worse here. Do you have clothes that will protect you when you go out—"

"I do not wish to go out."

What _did_ she wish for? He nodded, accepting her response. His next question would test Nesta enough.

"Can I take my clothes off?"

Nesta turned from the fire and forgot about the noise that was just beginning. Imaginary daggers hung around her, ready to strike, but she supposed this was her fault.

"You may stay out here," she said sternly. Plucking a blanket from the pile on the couch, she left him the rest. "I will be in the bedroom. Step over that threshold and expect to have your most precious item removed."

"And what would that be?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair. He did not smile.

"_Goodnight_, General." Nesta held her blanket tight and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

Cassian grit his teeth and began to remove his wet garments.

_This was not how he expected his first night naked and alone with Nesta to go._

**A/N: Hi! Let's be friends on Tumblr! Username: Joysbell**


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